


I know it when I see it

by ber_g



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Incest Kink, M/M, Step-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ber_g/pseuds/ber_g
Summary: “Why do we have to share again?”Stan groans and shoves his face into his pillow.(crossposting from derrykink)
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	I know it when I see it

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: "Fun fact: the lady sitting next to Richie at Stan’s bar mitzvah? In movie two was credited as Richie’s mom but in movie one she was credited as Stan’s mom. What is the truth movie? What is the truth? Well for this prompt, both. Both is the truth and Richie and Stan are brothers. Step-brothers, half-brother, or full biological brothers? You decide." I went with step-siblings in this.
> 
> Crossposting this and my other fills from derrykink @ dreamwidth; this was originally written and posted there in 2019.

“Why do we have to share again?”

Stan groans and shoves his face into his pillow. It smells like sweat and the shampoo his mom always bought, and if he smashes himself hard enough into it maybe it’ll block his ears and he can stop having to listen to Richie rattling on and on and fucking on all night. Or maybe it’ll just strangle him entirely which, same end result, really.

“I mean come on, Mister Uris isn’t fucking poor, why isn’t there room for two bedrooms if we’re all gonna live together?”

“Could you stop calling my dad Mister Uris?”

“I’m not gonna call him dad. What, am I supposed to be all ‘Hey Rabbi Uris, pass the peas wouldja?’ Or, or ‘Donald, can I have your pocket change so I can go buy a bunch of Pop Rocks to shove ‘em up my ass’?” Stan’s head jerks up from under his blanket barricade to stare down at Richie, sprawled in a heap of quilts on the floor. His glasses catch the little light coming in from the hall and make him look like some kind of weird grinning bug.

“Or am I supposed to call him daddy?” The proverbial straw breaks Stan’s thinning patience and he kicks himself off the bed, landing half on top of Richie and half on the worn carpet. He digs in with his elbows and slaps a palm over Richie’s mouth when he starts squawking louder.

“Shut up. Jesus, our parents are asleep, can you be quiet for once in your fucking life?” Something wet and warm drags over Stan’s hand, because of course it does, and he rubs the saliva off on Richie’s face. Richie catches his hand, makes like he’s gonna suck Stan’s fingertips with a blessedly quieter cackling laugh, and then subsides a little, rolling out of his blanket nest so that he and Stan are shoulder to shoulder. He drops their hands between them but doesn’t let go entirely.

“‘Our parents.’ This shit is fucking weird, dude.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I mean, come on, at least my mom could’ve hooked up with like, Mr. Keane and I could’ve had a hot stepsister to share a room with.”

“Gross.” Stan stares up at his familiar ceiling, the crack in the corner and the shadows cast by the window frame and the half-ajar closet door. Richie’s warm and breathing beside him, squirming incessantly like he’s a shark who’ll die if he stops swimming to just sleep. Stan knew this about him, that Richie finds it almost physically painful to sit still for too long, and he still agreed when his dad clapped a hand on his shoulder and mentioned they’d have to share for a bit until they could rearrange the old office into a bedroom for Richie, because apparently he’s a masochist or something.

“Cause like, I never had siblings, and then boom, my parents got divorced and I got a new dad and a new brother like a month later, only it’s you. It’s just, I dunno, it’s weird.”

Stan rolls his head to the side to look at Richie. In profile he looks more serious than usual, glasses sitting crooked on his nose.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just like, never thought of you like that. Or something.” Uncomfortable wriggling, and Richie’s hunkering up, on his side so he’s facing Stan but they aren’t touching anymore. It kind of pangs in Stan’s chest to hear - maybe not in so literal of terms, but he always quietly thought of Richie and Bill and Eddie as his brothers, or at least as close as. Not that he’d ever say it, especially not to Bill, but - yeah. Richie’s chewing on his lip, bony shoulders twisting around in the blanket pile. His sleep shirt’s gotten kind of rucked up around his waist.

“I mean, it’s not like we have to change anything. Our parents getting married doesn’t mean we’ve gotta be brothers-brothers. We’re still just us.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Richie still hasn’t let go of Stan, just tangled their fingers together more. Stan risks looking down at their joined hands, Richie’s scabbed on the knuckles from where he’s been telling everyone he punched out a senior, even though they all know he forgot his glasses at home one day and tripped over a garbage can. Losers, till the end.

Richie lets his head loll back and the long stretch of his neck makes Stan’s mouth go a little dry.

“I-I mean. It’d be weird, right, if we were brothers.”

“I guess so.” Stan’s skin feels too tight to hold him right now. Richie’s supposed to be the motormouth, the one with something to say about everything, and here he is, nearly begging Stan to grab the situation and make sense of it for him. He doesn’t know what Richie wants him to say. They’re still holding hands - Richie’s thumb drags over the back of Stan’s fingers. “I mean, we’re only technically brothers. Just cause of our parents.” Richie hums in response, fingers twitching against Stan’s palm.

“Yeah, huh. Not like anyone’ll expect us to act any different.” Richie shifts a little closer - Stan has no idea if he’s doing it on purpose or not but they’re pressed together, shoulder to hip, now. “Hey, does this mean I’m Jewish now? Cause I’m not letting you chop off the end of my dick.” Stan rolls his eyes.

“Not how it works, dipshit.”

“Good. I don’t trust your scissor skills.”

“Not how that works either.” He tilts his head to the side and Richie’s right there, up in his face, bug-eyed behind his glasses and weirdly kind of flushed.

“So you’re the expert on everything, huh? So what’s legal for step-brothers. Like, we’re still not related so - so if we bang, is it like, not incest?” Stan just stares - Richie’s grinning nervously, playing it off as a joke behind his teeth, and something twists in his gut and gives him the momentum to roll over. He approaches slow, like Richie’s a spooked animal he’s trying to reign in, gives him plenty of chance to plausibly back away and Richie’s whole face is a mask of unadulterated want, jaw slack and eyes wide like Stan’s answering all his prayers at once.

Stan closes the gap.

Richie’s mouth is hot under him, opens like it’s on springs and he’s desperate in seconds, making this stupid whining moan noise and clawing at Stan’s shoulders. Their knees slot together and Stan shudders when their hips do, too. Richie’s hard through his pajama shorts, squirming his dick up against Stan’s. He paws his hands into Stan’s hair, yanking almost painfully like he wants to get closer - nowhere closer they can go, they’re already lined up head to toe and Stan’s tongue is rubbing over the roof of Richie’s mouth, all hot and messy and sloppy-slick.

Stan pulls back, feels something flip in his stomach when a thread of saliva drags out between their mouths for a second before it drops into a glossy bead on Richie’s lower lip. Jesus, they kissed for like thirty seconds and Richie already looks wrecked, hair a rats nest and glasses crooked and fogging up. He’s panting, hips jerking helplessly up into Stan. Their gazes hold for a moment and then Richie’s mouth - bruised and red even in the dim slivers of light, fuck twists into a hopeful grin.

“Jesus, Stan, you kinky bitch. What, eleven years of friendship and you only wanna jump my bones as soon as it’s incest too?”

“Shut up,” Stan hisses, and lunges down to kiss Richie again and make him. It’s one part years of frustration built up, suddenly an outlet to manhandle Richie into submission, and one part - fuck, Richie’s really getting off on this, for all his bravado all it did took was Stan biting his lip and pawing at his hips to get Richie practically begging for it, melting into the tangled nest of blankets. Stan gropes around the front of his shorts where he can feel Richie’s hard and hot, gets him bucking up into Stan’s fingers. He just strokes him like that, easing Richie into a rhythm, ignoring his own dick throbbing where it’s jammed against Richie’s solid hipbone. Richie sinks into it, rocking his hips up in time and panting in Stan’s ear. He’s getting close, squirmy and shaking, knocking his elbows into Stan’s sides.

Stan risks a look to the door - all quiet down the hall, their parents have got to be still asleep. He scratches down to drag his thumb over Richie’s balls, hunches over him and braces his other hand over Richie’s cheek and gasps against his ear, “yeah, come on, come for me little brother.” There it is - Richie’s eyes blow wide behind his glasses, and he’d be yowling if Stan hadn’t immediately shoved his palm over his mouth. As it is he just kind of whimpers into it, breath hot and sticky against Stan’s skin. They shake through it together, Richie’s shorts are gonna be a mess and Stan’s dick is still complaining at being ignored, and finally Richie’s still enough that Stan pulls his hand back and flops beside him, groaning. “You’re the fucking kinky bitch.”

“Oh - oh fuck you, dude.”

“You just came like, ten seconds ago. I know teenage refractory periods are great but there’s no way you’re getting it up that fast again.” Richie just hisses in response and climbs over to straddle Stan. His shorts are sticking to his legs where he just jizzed all over them and it looks uncomfortable but he slides lower, feeling up Stan’s flanks until he’s crouched between his legs and - oh, okay, fuck, he’s yanking on the waistband of Stan’s pajama pants until he can fumble his dick out into the overheated night air in the bedroom.

“Don’t need to, you’re gonna pop in like, thirty seconds. Bet I can make you come faster than you did me.”

“I already beat you!” He tamps his voice down even though everything in him is getting riled up, by Richie’s dumbass running commentary and his stupid purple t-shirt and the way he’s just holding Stan’s dick and not doing anything about it except leering.

“Fucking fine, but like, I bet my time still beats yours.” Stan tries to knee Richie but it’s hard at this angle, and also when Richie leans down and drags his tongue over Stan’s dick. He pulls back, makes a face and then goes back in with enthusiasm if not exactly skill. Stan has to stuff his own palm in his mouth to keep from yelling. The other hand finds the back of Richie’s head and tries valiantly not to just buck up against him. Richie’s mouth is slick and hot and Stan’s already keyed up beyond belief and it really only takes a minute of rocking together, quiet as they can manage, Richie fumbling his way into a steady tempo. His hand is sweaty and his callouses rub over the base of Stan’s dick when he moves and that’s it, Stan comes, yanks on Richie’s hair and ends up spilling half in his mouth and half on his pajamas. He has to twist his neck around to bite the quilt under his head and muffle the moaning.

Richie is impossibly smug but Stan lets him have his moment, considering he’s got Stan’s semen smeared all over his chin. He wipes it off with the back of his hand and flops down into the blanket nest, shoving his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he goes. “Toldja so, big brother.” Stan snorts and rolls over to face him.

“Don’t act like you weren’t into that.” Richie definitely blushes - it’s too dark to see it but he squirms and swallows a little and, yeah, this is absolutely a thing. Stan should probably be more freaked out but it’s just Richie, they’ve been attached at the hip since first grade, so. If sneakily hooking up in their newly shared room is gonna be a thing, he can live with that. And if Richie’s that over the top when all Stan did was drop a pet name in, well. There’s a lot more he can think of, once his brain stops buzzing and he gets the sense-memory of Richie’s tongue a little further away from his dick.

“Maybe so. Eh. Least mom and - Mister Uris are still asleep. That’d be awkward for them to have walked in on.”

“Don’t even make me think about it.” Richie snickers and lets his forehead drop to Stan’s shoulder a little, almost cuddly.

“Hey mom, hey dad, look, you wanted us to get along, we’re doing great!”

“God no. Next time we’re waiting until they’re out of the house.”

“...Next time, huh? What, you think I’m that easy? I’m not a slut, Stan.” He’s trying to play it off, nervous beat to his voice, but Stan just rolls over further, wraps an arm around his belly.

“You creamed your pants after about ten seconds of incest roleplay. You’re kind of a slut.”

“Oh fuck off,” but his actions bely his words, squirming a little closer to Stan. “We’re gonna be so gross in the morning.”

“Dibs first shower. I’m the older brother after all.”


End file.
